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Before Richard could answer, Samuel suddenly darted off into the swirling snow. It was surprising how fast he could move.
Cara started after him, but Richard caught her arm to stop her.
“I’m in no mood to go running after him,” he said. “Besides, it’s unlikely we’ll catch him. He knows the trail and we aren’t familiar with it. We can’t follow his tracks as fast as he can make them. Besides, he will be heading back to Shota and that’s where we’re going anyway. No use to waste our energy when we’ll catch up with him in the end.”
“You should have let me kill him.”
Richard started up the slope toward the trail. “I would have, but I can’t fly.”
“I suppose,” she conceded with a sigh. “Are you all right?”
Richard nodded as he slid the sword home into its scabbard, putting away, too, the flush of hot anger. “Thanks to you.”
Cara flashed him a self-satisfied smile. “I keep telling you, you couldn’t get along without me.” She glanced around in the gray-blue murk. “What if he tries that again?”
“Samuel is basically a coward and an opportunist. He only attacks when he thinks you’re helpless. He is without any redeeming qualities as far as I can tell.”
“Why would a witch woman keep him around?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just a sycophant and she enjoys the groveling. Maybe she lets him stay around to run errands for her. Maybe Samuel is the only one who would willingly be her companion. Most people are terrified of Shota and from what I hear no one will come near this place. Although, from what Kahlan told me, witch women can’t help bewitching people—it’s just the way they are. Even if they didn’t, Shota is certainly seductive in her own right so I imagine that if she really wanted a worthwhile companion, she could have her pick.
“Now that we’ve driven him off, I really doubt that Samuel would have the courage to attack again. He’s delivered Shota’s message. Now that we’ve scared him, and hurt him, he will probably want to run back to Shota’s protection. Besides, he probably thinks she may kill us and he’d be just as happy to have her do it.”
Cara stared off into the swirling snow for a moment before following Richard up the steep slope. “Why do you think Shota would send a messenger to make sure that I come with you down into Agaden Reach?”
Richard found the trail and started down it. He saw Samuel’s footprints but they were already filling in with the blowing snow.
“I don’t know. That part has me puzzled.”
“And why does Samuel think that your sword belongs to him?”
Richard slowly let out a deep breath. “Samuel carried the sword before me. He was the last Seeker before me—although not a legitimately named Seeker. I don’t know how he acquired the Sword of Truth. Zedd came into Agaden Reach and took it back. Samuel believes that the sword still belongs to him.”
Cara looked incredulous. “He was the last Seeker?”
Richard cast her a meaningful look. “He didn’t have the magic, the temperament, or the character required by the sword to be the true Seeker of Truth. Because he wasn’t able to be the master of the sword’s power, that power changed him into what you see today.”
Chapter 39
With one finger, Richard swiped the sweat and drizzle from his brow. Little light penetrated the gloom at the lower stories of the swamp, but even without the sun beating down on them the steamy heat was oppressive. After coming down from the storm raging up in the mountain pass, Richard didn’t mind the heat so much as he otherwise might have. Cara wasn’t complaining, either, but then she rarely did about her own discomfort. As long as she was near him she was satisfied, although whenever he did anything she considered risky, it did tend to make her ill-tempered, which explained her irritable disposition about going to see Shota.
Here and there in the mud and soft ground of the forest floor, Richard saw fresh footprints left by Samuel. It was clear to Richard that Shota’s companion had been eager to get back to her protection and had hurried along the trail at a constant lope. Cara, too, saw the tracks. Richard had been impressed when she had pointed them out when she’d first spotted them. She had been more observant of tracks ever since the day Kahlan had disappeared and Richard had shown her, Nicci, and Victor some of the kinds of things that tracks revealed.
Even though Samuel’s tracks made it clear that he had been rushing and it didn’t look like he intended to try to jump them again, Richard and Cara still kept careful watch in case he, or anything else, were to be lurking in the shadows. The swamp was, after all, a place meant to keep intruders away. Richard wasn’t sure just what waited back under cover of leaf and shadow, but people in the Midlands, including wizards, didn’t fear to come into Shota’s sanctuary without sound reason.
It was no longer raining, but as foggy and humid as it was it might as well have been. The forest canopy collected the mist and drizzle, releasing it as sporadic, fat drops. Broad leaves on long arching stalks sprouting up from the tangled growth at the forest floor and vines twisting through the branches of trees all around bobbed under the assault of those heavy drops, giving the whole forest a constant, nodding movement in the still air.
The trees in the swamp grew in gnarled, twisted shapes, as if tormented by the load of vines and curtains of moss that hung limp and heavy from their branches in the mist. Crusty lichen and in places black slime grew on the bark. Here and there, in the distance, Richard spotted birds perched on the branches, watching.
Vapor hovered just above the surface of stagnant expanses of murky water runoff collected in the lap of the mountains. At the water’s edge tangles of roots snaked down into the depths. Things moved through the dark pools, lifting the film of duckweed on the slow rolling waves. From the shadows back across the water, eyes watched.
All around the cacophonous calls of birds rang though the damp air while Richard and Cara had to swish at the bugs buzzing around them. Other animals back in the mist let out whoops and whistles. At the same time, the thick, still vegetation and the oppressive, muggy, weight of the air lent the place a kind of uneasy stillness. Richard saw Cara wrinkle her nose at the pervasive, rotting stench.
The path through the dense growth almost seemed more like a living, growing tunnel. Richard was glad they didn’t have to venture off the trail and back into the surrounding quagmire. He could imagine all too well claws and fangs waiting patiently for dinner to happen by.
When they reached the brink of the gloomy swamp, Richard paused in the deep shadows. Peering out of the dark tangle of branches, hanging moss, and clinging green growth was like looking out from a cave at a glorious new day beyond. Despite the drizzle and mist up in the swamp, the late-day sun had broken through the cloud cover in places to cast golden shafts of sunlight on the distant valley, as if were a jewel on display.
Around the verdant valley the rocky gray walls of the surrounding mountains ascended almost straight up into a dark rim of clouds. As far as Richard knew, there was no way into Shota’s home but through the swamp. The valley floor below was spread with a rolling carpet of grasses dotted with wildflowers. Stands of oak, maple, and beech mottled some of the hills and congregated in low places along the stream, their leaves shimmering in the late light.
In the dark forest where Richard and Cara stood, it felt like standing in night, looking out on day. Not far off through the vines and brush, water tumbled off the craggy rock at the edge of the swamp to disappear into vertical columns of mist on its way down to the clear pools and streams far below where it made a distant roar that, at their height, sounded like little more than a hiss. That spray and mist wet their faces as they gazed off the edge of the cliff.
Richard led Cara through a narrow path off the main trail that simply ended at the cliff. The small side track would be nearly impossible to find had he not known where to look for it from his previous visit. It passed through a maze of boulders nearly hidden beneath a layer of pale green ferns. Vines, moss, and brush also hel
ped conceal the obscure route.
At the edge they finally began the descent. The trail down into the valley in large part was made up of steps, thousands of them, cut from the stone of the cliff wall itself. Those steps twisted and tunneled and turned ever downward, following the natural shape of the tiers of rock, sometimes following around soaring natural stone columns, only to spiral back on themselves to pass underneath the pathway bridging above.
The view on the way down the side of the cliff was spectacular. The streams carrying mountain runoff meandering through gentle hills were as beautiful as any Richard had ever seen. The trees, in places gathered into bands and in other spots standing alone as a single monarch atop a hill, were as calm and inviting a sight as he could hope for.
In the distant center of the valley, set among a carpet of grand trees, was a beautiful palace of breathtaking grace and splendor. Delicate spires stretched into the air, wispy bridges spanned the high gaps between towers, and stairs spiraled around turrets. Colorful flags and streamers flew atop every point. If a majestic palace could be said to look feminine, this one did. It seemed a fitting place for a woman like Shota.
Other than his home of Hartland and the mountains to the west of there, where he had taken Kahlan to recover over the span of a magical summer, Richard had never seen another place to compare to this valley. That alone had given him pause in his judgment about Shota before he’d met her for the first time. Passing through the swamp back then, he had thought it a fitting place for a witch to live. When he had been told that the valley was actually her home, he had thought that, surely, someone who could call such a peaceful, beautiful place home had to have some good qualities. Later, when he had seen the beauty of the People’s Palace, Darken Rahl’s home, he came to discount such indulgent notions.
At the bottom of the cliff beside the waterfall a road led off through grassy fields to wind its way among the small hills. Before they took to the road, though, Cara asked if they could take the opportunity for a quick dip to get clean.
Richard thought it sounded like a good idea, so he stopped and took off his pack. Most importantly, he wanted to wash the painful burns so they would have a better chance to heal. He was drenched in sweat and filth and imagined that he must look like a beggar.
